Fallow Fields — An Argument for Letting Your Creativity Rest

The first sign was music. Or lack thereof. My mind was calling for silence. Demanding it, to the point that I couldn’t even bear to turn on the radio while driving. And not just because I was tired of hearing the same 10 songs over and over. (Even the good ones get old after awhile.) Something inside me needed to rest.

The quiet went on for days. Weeks. Months. No music. Few books. Hardly any writing. It feels scary, almost shameful, to admit that last part. I’ve spent so much of my life wanting to be a writer, carving out space and time to be a writer, justifying the cost and heartache of being a writer. How could I not be writing?

Only recently, when I finally found myself yearning for music again, did I realize what I’d been doing, and how very vital it was to my work.

‘Fallow’ periods were traditionally used by farmers to maintain the natural productivity of their land. The benefits of leaving land fallow for extended periods include rebalancing soil nutrients, re-establishing soil biota, breaking crop pest and disease cycles, and providing a haven for wildlife. — source

We are the farmers, and the fields are our creativity.

Unfortunately, the practice of leaving fields fallow is falling by the wayside. We have become obsessed with economics and productivity. If a piece of land looks empty, then we rush to fill it. Think of the crops it could yield, the profits! If the soil starts to struggle, then we assist it with chemicals. We cannot abide the idea of a resource under-utilized. We do not wait for nature to take its course, to restore the earth in due time.

Similarly, we chug caffeine to keep ourselves going when we are tired. We multi-task to maximize our efficiency, to squeeze every last second out of our days. We look for formulas and shortcuts. We aim for more more more, because more is better, never mind what we can healthily sustain.

This is no way to live, and it is especially no way to write.

Right before I stopped listening to music, I had been over-working my fields. I was desperately trying to salvage an old manuscript, and harvest a new one, and sow more seeds into every inch of earth that I could see. In between the ambitious, hopeful rows of my novels, I planted short stories, essays, poems, blog posts, tweets, emails… Anything and everything. But of course, the land could not support all of that. By trying to grow too much too fast, I was depleting my soil of nutrients, attracting pests and disease, creating an unruly, inhospitable chaos — not to mention wasting my own precious energy.

Thankfully, a deeper instinct within me cried out, calling for quiet. For a break. I heeded the call, perhaps because I was spread so thin that I lacked the willpower to resist, or perhaps because I could see my fields suffering and knew that they needed to be razed to the ground in order to rise again.

Either way, that is exactly what they have done. And now I am writing again — tenderly slipping seeds into the soil — and I can feel the difference. The earth is no longer weary and dry, but rather dark and rich, eager to nurture my words, my ideas. This kind of fertility cannot be forced, only encouraged through good practices for both the farmer and the land.

I’m not saying that we should all stop writing for months at a time. Personally I hope never to need such a long fallow period again! (But maybe I will, and that’s OK.) I’m only saying that I think many of us fear idleness, as if not producing is evil, a poison. But in my opinion, what’s truly toxic to our work — the work of creating art, of finding and sharing beauty and truth and experience — is to push too far. To focus on output rather than input. To view rest as an enemy, rather than as another tool in our toolbox.

Before closing, I should also note that everyone’s fields are not the same. What overloads one tract of land might thrive in another. But the desert is no less valuable than the rainforest. They are simply different. And they each produce their own beauty, their own life, their own stories.

Have you ever gone through a fallow period? What impact did that have on you, your process, or your work?

Kristan Hoffman was a finalist in our search for an unpublished contributor; a quarterfinalist in the Amazon Breatkthrough Novel Awards for her novel The Good Daughters (women’s fiction/multicultural); and the winner of the St. Martin’s Press “New Adult” Contest for her web series, Twenty-Somewhere (now available as an ebook).

Comments

Fully agree with Judith. It’s probably actionable, to tell the truth- sue the little brat. But this is a beautifully realized and fully accurate metaphor, thanks Kristan. To the extent that success in writing depends on productivity, my hopes have always rested on the notion that only the good die young. And maybe because my work desk sits in the kitchen, I think of how my lovely wife cooks- sometimes with a casserole or marinade or things you bake, you simply have to stop and let the ingredients “set” awhile. Food’s no good otherwise. So here’s to letting it rest every so often.

Kristan, I’m in a semi-fallow period right now and have had them before. I often read more and write more book reviews during this down time. I’m reading more writing craft books this year and that’s been lots of fun to post on my blog. So, there’s always some side line one can do to keep one of the plow wheels turning up new soil. I have had periods where I seem to just stare out the window at the sky and trees, admiring ‘little birds with scarlet legs’ as Auden says. Poetry is another place to go during fallow times.

I have not made a *conscious* decision not to write, but I find I often go through a short period between finishing one project and starting another where there’s just nothing *to* write. I find I can’t give up listening to music or reading, however. For me, those things are part of the recharge process.

Sleep. Green tea. Yoga. A walk with the dog. A bike ride. Reading. Art galleries. Concerts. Theater. Indie movies. Dinner with friends. A drive in the country. Cooking. A view. A beach.

A scooter ride with your kid. A long talk about nothing in particular and everything in general with your wife. Teaching. Sailing to Block Island. Hiking in Pennsylvania. Exploring a new city. Working on investments and giving money away.

Oh my, Benjamin. ALL OF THE ABOVE. You’ve put it in perspective. In other words, let the busy left brain rest, and let the right brain loose to dream awhile. I tend to catch up with my chores. Here the imagination goes crazy while I dust the tops of window frames and mop under the fridge. Walk the dog? Every day, whether writing or not. Recently not. Thank you, Kristen, for assuming the presidency of the Blocked Writers’ Club. (No longer the Blocked Writer’s Club)

I totally agree with the idea that we should rest, but as a new writer and someone who has a full-time, stressful job, I have a very hard time finding the balance of rest and writing in my free time. Because I don’t want to just take a leap and quit my job before I actually earn a living with my writing, I find the need to write every free moment I have. If I don’t write, I feel like I’m never going to get to start my writing career and it’ll just be a hobby. What would you guys recommend for people in this situation?

Vanesa, I agree that is a tough situation. Been there! I think the key is to listen to yourself and stop for a little rest when you find yourself not being effective.

To take a different sort of example, back when I was first in university I had the bad habit of writing papers the night before they were due. There came a point during the night when my brain wasn’t firing on even half of its cylinders. That’s when I knew it was time to sleep for a couple of hours.

I also think occasional rests–a walk, an afternoon off, the things Benjamin listed–can stave off the kind of burnout Ron talks about

A wise person once told me to make sure I understood the difference between nurturing myself and pampering myself. I’ve found that advice extremely helpful over the years.

Vanesa, I’ve been there too, so I sympathize with how you feel. Rest can definitely feel like a privilege that not all of us can afford. There are also different stages to this writing journey, and early on, I do think it’s good to take advantage of passion and that sense of urgency.

So I’m not telling you not to write. Definitely not. Make the most of your time. Practice and learn and practice some more.

I think my post may speak more to people who have been at it for a while and are burning out. If you don’t feel that way right now — and I hope you don’t! — then that’s wonderful. Just keep this idea tucked away for later. ;)

Life forced me to walk away from my writing. My mother’s illness and death; my husband’s health, which is now great again, and a major move from the midwest to California. Wisdom is found in taking all of that and holding it close, because it churns up ideas, broadens perspective, can even increase vocabulary–well as we age, medical, at least. Fallow is good as long as the yearning is still there and images are being captured. I won’t go to that old “mill” quote, but living is the precursor to writing. Thanks.

A well-timed post for. After writing 4 novels last year, starting a podcast, and ramping up my marketing, I hit January like a cartoon coyote hitting a painted-on tunnel. I was absolutely drained. I fought it hard for a few months, then let myself relax. I took up traditional archery. Planned a fishing trip to Alaska (August 2017…who wants in?). Watched something called “television.”

It worked wonders. I’m still not up to where I was last year, and not sure I want to. My books can be better. Whipping them out that quickly is great for improving my craft, but I need to fall back and think of it as art once more, not words off a production line.

My latest WIP will probably take me all of this year. The concept is too deep to rush it. But I think it will be worth the time. By the way, you can take those down times and focus a bit on marketing the books you’ve already published. That helps get the gears turning again, especially if you start selling a few.

Phew, Ron, I’m exhausted just hearing about everything you were up to!! I’m glad you gave yourself permission to take a step back and reevaluate. Sounds like you did some good living (which is often what this kind of rest looks like, hehe) and now you can come back fresher, wiser, and with a new story to tell. Thank you for sharing!

Kristan, thank you for your lovely post and reminder to enjoy the season you’re in, to receive the blessings each has to offer. I have a natural rhythm to the days and weeks and months because of school-aged children, but even so, there is always a season of resting before the work. But the rest isn’t doing nothing, it’s nourishing the well. Right now I’m coming out of a fallow period and it’s just heady.

Your post reminds me of Ecclesiastes 3, which the Byrds put to music! To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die … here’s the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WB6jhbtDUZE ENJOY!!!

Thank you for your lovely post and reminder to enjoy the season you’re in, to receive the blessings each has to offer. I have a natural rhythm to the days and weeks and months because of school-aged children, but even so, there is always a season of resting before the work. But the rest isn’t doing nothing, it’s nourishing the well. Right now I’m coming out of a fallow period and it’s just heady.

Yes, yes, yes, Kristin, and thank you. My fallow period hit a few weeks ago, and surprise, surprise, I’m not worried. The bulldozer push has been going on for so long, I’m relieved. In the silence, too far away to be heard, I sense waves of light pulsing. In the past I would’ve struggled to hear, decipher and act. Today, trust beams from my heart, calms my soul and caresses the tension from my mind. When the time is right the pure sound—the Naad—will present and open my new path.

Exactly, Jocosa. I definitely have struggled against fallow periods before — and I likely will again — but I *want* to embrace them, because in my experience, they bring me to a better place. This post was as much a letter to myself as anyone else. Most of my “wisdom” is. ;)

Good points to ponder as we go about this writing business, and I loved the comparison to farming. Since I have always been a farmer at heart, I connected to the comparison right away. However, I am not sure I would like to rest for more than a month. :-) Still, I can see the benefits you pointed out so well in this post.

A wise and beautifully written piece, Kristan. I’ve been in a fallow period for about four months, though I’ve been casting around to find my next concept and wondering why I can’t be satisfied with my evolving ideas. It feels as if I’ve been wasting time–but maybe I haven’t!

I have been feeling the need to confess to someone-somewhere. Since spending a week in a writing class in early April, I have not been able to write anything new. I have felt like an empty bag of tepid air. What has really troubled me in addition has been the silence in my house. No music! For the first time in my life, there is no music and I’ve only idly thought about it. Thanks for this post. I have never heard anyone equate a lack of music with a lack of writing.

So apparently there are people who embrace the fallow, like you, Kristan, those who see that life is forcing them to go fallow, as Beth Havey said, and then there are folks like me who see the fallow stretching bored before them and must be dragged into it, kicking and screaming. My poor bruised soul, trying to do my will even though is wasn’t up for the task.

I might just try embracing it next time. Think of all the restful renewal I missed out on, fretting about what was all around me! Thanks to you, maybe next time I’ll see it for what it is.

Kristen, I too am going through a similar situation. I’m in a fallow time. I watch as fellow writers continue to crank out their latest novel within 3-6 months, while I try to get motivated to write my sixth novel and work on a short story for an anthology. I blame it on the changes in my life since moving into a new location, a daughter with health issues moving back home, and my winding down of writing articles for a quarterly magazine in the town I left behind. I sit down usually sometime during the day to get started but nothing happens. Of course, Then I worry I’ll never produce another story. Maybe the muse just isn’t ready yet. At least I hope so.